


A Kiss Is Just A Kiss

by Savageandwise



Category: The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Season 2, Smut, lots of talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 21:57:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17475710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageandwise/pseuds/Savageandwise
Summary: “So, this is what happened.”He recognises her at once. Who else would start a telephone conversation like that?“You walked out on me, Mrs. Maisel,” Lenny says.Midge and Lenny on the phone after his performance and her encounter with Joel.





	A Kiss Is Just A Kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whereitwillgo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereitwillgo/gifts).



> I wanted to write this- or some version of this for a very long time. But at first I wasn't sure I would be able to do their voices. The end of season 2 gave me the final push. I needed to fix that ending. Also of course thanks to Whereitwillgo. This is your belated x mas gift. I know you love Lenny like i do.
> 
> This is my first fic in this fandom...let me know if it's any good.

“So, this is what happened.”

He recognises her at once. Who else would start a telephone conversation like that?

“You walked out on me, Mrs. Maisel,” Lenny says. “I'm pretty sure Mama Weissmann didn't up and leave little Midgelet to walk home in the rain alone.”

“That's what I'm talking about!” Midge shouts down the line. “Your whole all alone spiel. It's your fault this happened. I never would have done what I did if you hadn't made me so fucking...sad.” She really draws the last word out, milking it like she's on stage.

“It's one kiss, Midge. Between friends. I didn't even cop a feel. Hardly. No tongue.”

“Liar,” she hisses. “There was tongue. And I felt so goddamn bad about it I went half way across town and kissed my ex-husband.”

“You kissed your ex-husband? Was there tongue?”

“Don't try to turn this into a joke, Mister. This is serious.”

“Very serious,” he says deadpan.

“Do you know how many times I've had to deny I had sex with you? It's embarrassing. I'm pretty sure you never had to convince some sweaty, leering old schmuck you didn't fuck a famous comedian to get ahead.”

“Are you kidding? I tell them Mort Sahl made sweet love to me all the time.”

“Be serious, Leonard,” Midge whispers. Her voice dips down when she says his name, flipping the mood. She's so fucking good at manipulating an audience it makes his chest hurt.

“I'm serious, Miriam,” he answers. “Why didn't you go kiss your fancy doctor fiancé?”

“I don't know.”

“Why did you kiss me in the first place?”

“I don't know.”

He'd barely lit a cigarette when she stepped into the room. He wondered if she ever hurried, ever tripped, shuffled or slunk. She always seemed to move as if she was floating. He knew a lot of work went into that, probably her mother had her practicing daily since she could crawl, but it still impressed him. He'd opened his mouth to say something clever and she was in his arms in a cloud of Chanel, pressing her mouth to his. And fuck if he clean forgot what he was supposed to do next for a moment. Her hands came up to grip his hair tightly.

“You're mussing it,” he'd said stupidly.

“You're already done with your set,” she breathed.

And his arms slid around her, crushing her to him. He kissed her like he didn't care if he ever breathed again. His brain was so gloriously still, you could hear a pin drop. It was better than booze, better than drugs. When they stopped, gasping for breath, she pulled away, gave him a look like a deer in the headlights and turned on her heel and left. She didn't say a word, quite uncharacteristically.

“I guess I thought you could use a good kiss,” she says.

“I looked like that, huh?”

“Okay, maybe I thought I could use a good kiss. It was. A good kiss. It was a great kiss. Heartstoppingly great. In the movies there would be violins.”

“Bergman and Bogart. Rhett and Scarlett, Lady and the Tramp,” he says, a smile quirking his lips.

“And only the dogs live happily ever after. It's a dog’s life.”

He pulls a cigarette out of his case and sticks it between his lips, lights it with the lighter Honey gave him for his birthday years ago.

“Happily ever after? Why Mrs. Maisel, if I didn't know better I'd think you had feelings for me,” he says.

“You don't know everything in the world,” she says primly.

“I know Mama Weissmann doesn't want her little girl kissing penniless comedians with warrants out for their arrest in every state but Hawaii. And that's only cause they just joined up.”

“She doesn't get to decide who I kiss.” A hint of defiance in those words. Clearly Mama Weissmann thinks she absolutely gets to decide who Miriam kisses.

“Wait a moment," he says abruptly. "You said you felt bad about it.”

“No I didn't."

“You did. You said you felt so goddamn bad about kissing me you had to go kiss your ex-husband.”

“Oh. I did. Didn't I?” Midge reflects.

“So if I made your heart stop, why did you feel bad? Come to think of it...that's not a good feeling: Lenny. You kissed me and it felt like heart failure. Come to think of it...you kissed me…”

“Only because you made me do it!” she exclaims.

“Made you? I was set upon by a mad Upper West Side vixen with perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect...eyes.”

“And by eyes you mean tits," she says. He pictures her narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously.

“Nothing gets past you," he says admiringly.

“Not much. Anyway don't change the subject. You made me with your sob story, your sad song...you're a really good singer, you know? The hair, the eyebrows, the whole air of tragic mystique," she sighs.

“I'm only smiling on the outside.”

“Don't change the subject. I was defenseless against you. You cad.”

“What can I do to make it up to you? Grovel? Kiss your flawlessly cobbled high heel shoes? You're making your own way now. Letting you open for me won't impress you anymore. My little girl...all grown up…” he sniffs back a fake sob.

“Well, you can get me a drink. For starters. Call Susie and she'll see when she can squeeze you in.”

“The visual is blinding." He winces at the image forming in his head.

“Be nice,” Midge says sternly.

“Why don't you just come up? You'll run out of change soon anyway.”

There is a long pause on the other end of the line. He can see the telephone box from his window, can see her standing there leaning against the wall like she's home drinking coffee and yacking with a friend.

“Midge. Are you still there? Come up before you freeze to death,” he says. He tries to make it sound like the only sensible thing to do. 

“This was as far as I got in my head. I figured as long as we could talk it would be alright. I don't actually know what would happen if we were in the same room," she whispers.

“Don't you?” he asks.

“Well. I can make an educated guess.”

“Come up, Midge. Have a drink. I promise I'll be the perfect gentleman.”

He hadn't really thought it through either. When he hears her clack, clack, clacking up the stairs he realises his place is a mess. A girl like Midge probably has her apartment cleaned by a regiment of woodland animals. At least there’s no laundry on the floor. But there are ashtrays on every surface in the joint, whiskey tumblers and stacks of newspapers he hasn't gotten around to reading yet. There are congealing cartons of Chinese take out. And damn it, he clean forgot about Annie's girdle still hanging from the shower curtain rod where she left it. She packed everything but the kitchen sink when she left him. Funny she'd leave that. The sheets are clean at least he changed them yesterday after spilling ketchup on them eating dinner in bed.

As it turns out he shouldn't have worried because Midge doesn't even look twice at the apartment. As soon as she walks in she steps into his arms and kisses him like nobody's business.

“Hold up, hold up, Mrs. Maisel. I'm not that kind of girl!” Lenny protests.

“You so are that kind of girl,” Midge breathes.

The next thing she does is kick off her shoes. She's going to snag her fancy pantyhose on the crappy floorboards and get a splinter or something. He lifts her clean off the ground into his arms like she's a bride.

“What are you doing?” she laughs wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

“I'm taking you to the bed,” he announces.

“Are you? Just like that? No drink? No pleasant chit chat?”

“Yes. Just like that. Also all the chairs have clutter on them.”

“I can see that,” Midge says, looking around the room. “Your decorator was trying for that bohemian angle.”

He deposits her on the bed and she unpins her hat and places it on the nightstand next to a bottle of vodka.

“So did you come here to admire my decorating?” Lenny asks, taking her coat and draping it over the back of a chair. Then he sits down beside her on his bed.

“I came because I wanted to be sure it wasn't a fluke,” Midge says.

“What wasn't a fluke?” Lenny asks.

“The amazing kissing. The crazy attraction. The if-you-don't-touch-me-again-I’m-going-to-lose-my-mind.”

He takes her chin in his hand and angles her face towards his.

“We wouldn't want that. It's such a clever mind.”

“Look who's talking,” Midge breathes.

“Maybe that's enough talking for one night," he says decisively.

“What are you saying? We're Jews. If we stop talking we'll probably die. Like how great white sharks can't stop swimming.”

He covers her mouth with his own. “It's worth the risk.”

She puts her hands on his chest and smoothes his shirt, her clever fingers working on opening the buttons. Then she presses her face into his neck and breathes in deep.

"You smell so good," she says.

“You’re fast,” Lenny says, sliding a hand up her back.

“I thought it might be the suit,” Midge explains.

“The suit?” 

“Maybe you just look sexy in a suit. Lots of girls have been duped by a well-cut suit before. Duped into bed and even right up the aisle. Two and a half kids and a dog and all because of some tailor’s handiwork.”

Lenny gets up and takes off the rest of his clothing.

“Nope,” she breathes. “Not the suit.”

She's flat out staring at him now. He leans over and pulls down the zipper on her dress with one hand. His other hand cups her left breast.

“A multitasker.”

“That's me,” Lenny says. “My mama always said it was a sign of high intelligence.”

“I'm impressed,” Midge says, shrugging out of her dress.

“Miriam, your undergarments are a Herculean feat. I should put this in my act.”

Despite his complaint, Lenny quickly removes her chemise and gets to work on the hooks on her brassiere.

“Don't you dare!” Midge shrieks.

“I'm serious. How do you have two children?”

Midge shrugs. “I helped him a little.”

“Helped?” Lenny shakes his head. He doesn't want to think about Mr. Maisel. Instead he bites his lip and doubles his efforts.

Triumphant, he pulls off the offending garment and her tits bounce free. He knew she was arrested for exposing them on stage. He would sell his soul to see that set, the looks on people's faces. He bends down and takes a nipple in his mouth, sucks it till it forms a hard little knot.

“Oh, God,” Midge moans. “Do the other one.”

He obliges. She really does have perfect breasts, like pert apples. Midge moans, her hand straying towards his cock. She looks down, a smile on her lips.

“There are showers. And my are there growers!” she gasps, gripping him hard in her hand. 

He was expecting her to be coy. But her approach is like her oeuvre. Direct and without compromise. He has to pull away before he gets too carried away.

“What? Already?” Midge laughs nervously. 

He pulles off her half slip and removes her garter belt, smoothing the stockings from her perfect legs.

“Baby, it's all been one long session of foreplay. Ever since we shared that squad car. I need to pace myself.”

She'd been wearing a nightdress under that coat that night in the police car. He had jerked off to that fantasy many, many times.

Midge lets out a laugh. "Alright then, you delicate flower."

He slips his hand between her legs and under the soft silk of her panties. She’s so wet the thin fabric sticks to her cunt a little. He pulls off the garment and strokes her till she shivers and sighs and then draws out his hand to taste his fingers. She tastes good.

“Nooo,” she moans. “Don't stop now…”

He slides his thumb over her clit and she's tilting her hips upwards, grasping his wrist to hold his hand in place while she fucks his fingers with her greedy little cunt. He loves how hungry she is. He can feel himself come a little, the head of his cock is already slick with desire so fierce he aches with it.

“I want you,” she gasps. She sounds like a completely different person like this. Like that girl on stage, fucking the audience with her eyes, starving for their laughs.

He wants her too. He's pushing between her legs, her hand is on his cock, guiding him in.

“Yes,” she breathes, “Yes, yes, yes.”

Lenny thrusts into her hot, wet cunt, and her legs come up around him, her mouth searching his out. He moves slowly at first, till he finds the right rhythm. And then it's like getting into his stride during a set. When you can time those laughs. Feel them coming before you even deliver the punchline. Right on cue, Midge laughs breathlessly. She's angling her hips hard against his, her fists in tight balls against his back. She's practically growling, a low ferocious sound coming from the back of her throat like a wild cat and he loves it. Miriam Maisel, lost for words. Her nails rake down his back and he draws in his breath abruptly. The pain is delicious.

She starts to shake, her eyelashes fluttering rapidly. Lenny strokes her face as he thrusts. Her perfect face is splotched, white and red and she's never looked lovelier. Just the expression on her face is almost enough to send him over the edge. He's almost got control of himself when she presses her mouth against his shoulder and bites down hard. And he's coming so hard he goes numb for a moment, the pleasure is so intense.

They lie there for ages after, his cock growing soft inside her. He has his head on her shoulder and she's stroking it, that huge rock gets tangled in his hair. He's right in that place between wakefulness and dreaming, floating pleasantly. He wonders if this is it now. This is her slumming and she got a taste of it and now she can go back to her rich fiancé. She lets out a soft sigh as if she can read his thoughts.

“Lenny?” she asks drowsily.

He lifts his head to look at her. “Yes, Mrs. Maisel?”

“How soon till you can go again?”

He laughs out loud and pulls her into a tight embrace. “My dear,” he says. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”


End file.
